Page 58 of Hot for the Hockey Player (The Single Moms of San Camanez: The Vino Vixens #2)

Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither would my indifference to gossip be, but I was trying.

Sliding my legs over the side of the bed and shoving my feet into my slippers, I gave a little moan from the pleasant, dull ache between my thighs as memories of last night resurfaced.

Not only did Maverick have the stamina of a triathlete, but he was so damn generous in bed.

I was practically sobbing from the intensity of a few of my orgasms.

I wrapped my robe about my body and opened up the bedroom door to find not only Maverick and Laurel, but Damon too, in the kitchen preparing breakfast. Laurel was on pancake duty, flipping them on the griddle, while Damon was slicing fruit for a salad, and Maverick was draining the grease from the sheet pan of bacon.

“Hey, Mom,” Laurel said, placing a pancake onto the stack, before ladling more batter onto the griddle.

Still a little bewildered at the sight before me, I walked up behind her, ran my hand over her hair, and kissed the side of her head. “Good morning.”

I did the same to Damon, though I had to lift up onto my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Morning.”

“Morning,” he mumbled, sliding diced strawberries into the bowl of fruit salad.

“Just in time,” Maverick said, handing me a mug of coffee. “Breakfast is pretty much ready.” The gold in his eyes glimmered with amusement before he made sure the kids weren’t looking, then tossed a wink at me.

I smothered my smile by bringing the mug to my lips.

“Go sit down,” he ordered. “We’ll bring it to you.”

“Yeah, Mom,” Laurel added. “You cook for us all the time. It’s our turn to cook for you.”

“It’s not Mother’s Day for another two months,” I said, taking my seat at the dining room table. “Whose idea was this?”

“Mine,” she replied. “And Mav’s. He said he wanted to make us all breakfast. I said why don’t we make a big breakfast for you?”

“And Damon got suckered into prep cook duty?” I teased, earning a smirk from my son.

“He’s a great sous chef,” Maverick answered, carrying the tray of bacon and the fruit salad to the table. It was already set for four people and there looked to be freshly made whipped cream in a bowl as well.

Grinning at me, and wearing a tight, white T-shirt, and those delicious gray sweatpants of his like they were tailored just for him, he returned to the kitchen, then brought back a glass of orange juice and set it in front of me.

“You always take care of us. How about you let us take care of you for a change?”

“Careful, or I could get used to this.”

He shot me another wink. “Would that be such a bad thing?”

A moment later, we were all sitting around the table, eating breakfast like some perfect, happy family.

Even though we shared dinner together last night, and had several other nights as well, breakfast just felt different.

It felt more intimate. Probably because Maverick stayed the night, and we were all in our pajamas with pillow creases on our cheeks and eye crusties.

There were no false pretenses here. Everyone was at their roughest and rawest, and I kind of loved it.

“These are delicious pancakes,” I said, stabbing my fork into another whipped cream and maple syrup slathered piece. “So fluffy.”

“The trick is a little bit extra baking powder,” Maverick said. “Gives them the bubbles.” A playful, almost wicked glint flickered in his gaze that had my whole body heating up.

I sipped my orange juice to cool off. “I’ll have to remember that.”

“What time is your cheese thing?” Laurel asked.

“Eleven-thirty,” Maverick answered. “If you’re interested, I’ll book some more classes, and maybe next time, you can come with me.”

My daughter simply shrugged. “I’d be down for some cheese making.”

“I have some editing to do,” Damon said. “And that marketing lady, Alice—she’s intense, by the way—wants me to jazz up your intro. So I’m going to work on that.”

“She is intense,” Maverick agreed. “If she gets to be too intense, let me know and I’ll handle her. She’s brilliant at what she does, she’s just … a lot .”

Damon lifted one shoulder and grabbed a piece of bacon off the communal tray. “It’s fine. She’s right. It needs to be—”

“Jazzier?” Laurel asked with a snicker.

“Basically,” her brother replied, deadpanned.

“Well, let me know what you need from me. And make sure you take breaks and stuff. She brought up child labor laws and now I’m panicking.

I don’t want to work you too hard, and I’m definitely going to fairly compensate you.

” He glanced at me. “Should Damon and I have like a proper contract or something? Could I get in trouble?”

I finished chewing. “Technically, you should have written parental permission from me. While in school, legally, he can work up to a maximum of sixteen hours a week. Between seven in the morning and seven at night. Three hours a day during the week, and up to six days a week. When hiring minors in Washington State, you must get a minor work permit endorsement on your business license.”

He swallowed and his face went pale. “I don’t have a business license.”

All I did was twist my lips. I figured he didn’t. “You must get a completed parent authorization form and verify the minor’s age. He can be paid no less than eighty-five percent of the current minimum wage.”

“Oh, I’ll definitely pay him more than that. More than the minimum wage too.”

“And lastly, according to Washington State law, if an employer, knowingly or recklessly violates the requirements of Washington Sate Revised Code 49.12.121 or 49.12.123 the employer is guilty of gross misdemeanor punishable by up to three hundred and sixty-four days in prison or by a fine of no more than five thousand dollars. Sometimes both.”

Everyone at the table stopped chewing and just stared at me.

Laurel was the first to speak. “You asked her lawyer stuff. You’re going to get the lawyer. Like she’s reading from a textbook.”

“Apparently,” Maverick said, his eyes glittering at me.

“You got her on a roll and once she’s moving, there’s no stopping her until she reaches the bottom of the hill,” Laurel added. “It can be annoying sometimes.”

Damon snorted. Maverick just gaped at me a little longer.

“Hey,” I said to my daughter. “Let’s hope you never need my lawyer help, hmm?”

My daughter rolled her pretty eyes.

My face was already warm from Maverick’s continued starting. “I may have read up on this last week when you said you were hiring Damon to do your editing. I just wanted to know his rights.” I shrugged then sipped my orange juice again. “It’s what I do.”

Maverick’s lips twitched in amusement. Then he picked up a piece of bacon and took a bite. “It’s what you do.”

“What if I work on it in the evenings?” Damon asked. “Like at nine o’clock before bed for an hour or something. Is Mav going to get in trouble because I didn’t stop at seven?”

“And can you explain it for us who didn’t or haven’t gone to law school yet?” Maverick asked, a smirk on his lips.

All I did was smile. “Yes. I can. So, these are extenuating circumstances. You’re technically working under the table since you’re not working that much.

But if you would like to put these hours worked toward something necessary for school or graduation, then Maverick will need to obtain a business license and file the proper documentation.

You could either hire Damon on as an employee, or we could have Damon be a soul proprietor and be contracted out by you.

I’m happy to do more research and help with this.

Make sure all of our butts are properly covered. ”

Both my son and Maverick nodded fervently. “Yes, please,” Maverick said first.

Damon scrubbed his hand through his hair, then down his face. “Man, I had no idea how crazy all this was. I thought it was easy. Just do the work, get the money.”

“Nothing is that easy,” I said simply before ladling fruit salad into a bowl.

“But we’ll figure it out. There are templates for everything, and I can easily fill everything out for you.

I can even help Maverick file for a proper business license and get that all set up.

I used to help clients with it all the time.

Women who escaped difficult relationships and had no way to support themselves.

Some of them set up homebased businesses, and I helped them with that paperwork. ”

Eyes wide, face still missing some color, Maverick shook his head. “Boy, are we lucky to have a lawyer in the family.”

The kids both snorted. Meanwhile my heart was palpitating wildly at his casual mention of “family.”

I cleared my throat, eager to keep talking about what I knew and not get my brain all muddled and confused by matters of the heart.

“Labor laws—laws in general—exist to stop people from getting exploited. And while I don’t think Maverick will exploit you, it’s always better to do things by the book.

Transparency is key. He’s a public figure, and we don’t need to give the media or anyone else any fodder to come after him negatively. ”

“Any more fodder,” Damon added.

Maverick grimaced. “Yeah … the league isn’t happy. Neither are my brothers or dad. Rebel sent me quite the nasty text yesterday.”

I didn’t know about this. “Really? What did he say?”

Maverick shook his head in dismissal. “Just how I started my own ‘woke, douche podcast’ and that my career is over because I can’t keep my mouth shut and my opinions to myself.”

“Then he asked that if he was in Henderson’s position if you’d call him out,” Damon added, also shaking his head. “Uh, yeah you would.”

Maverick merely bobbed his head, but a haunted look made his eyes go dark and the creases around his eyes and mouth deepen. “It does make me wonder if maybe Rebel is guilty of some of this stuff. The way he’s coming after me. Like the best offense is a defense, you know?”

“Isn’t he married with kids?” Laurel asked innocently.

“Even husbands and fathers can be predators,” I said softly, doing my best to push thoughts of my ex-husband and his brother out of my head before they took root and ruined the day.

“I suppose,” she murmured.

“Luckily, I think there’s more people out there supporting Mav than against him,” Damon replied positively. “He’s had over seven thousand listened hours now, which is just crazy. Every time I check, there’s like two or three hundred more.”

“I think you should take more of an active role on the show,” Maverick said to him, sipping his orange juice.

“I want you to speak up. Ask questions too. Give your opinion. You’re part of the reason I’m doing this, and I want you involved.

I want the world to hear you and know that not all hope is lost for the next generation. ”

A heavy rush of color flooded my son’s cheeks, reminding me of the little boy he once was, refusing to come inside even though it was painfully cold outside and his nose was dripping from the icy wind.

I loved it when he finally relented and would run into the house and my arms, smelling of toddler sweat, fresh air, and innocence.

His cheeks were as rosy then as they were now, and that same excited spark was in his blue-gray eyes as well.

I got a little choked up from the memory and how happy he truly seemed now versus just a few weeks ago. And it was all thanks to Maverick.

“I mean … we can see,” Damon finally said, his voice cracking a little. “Maybe.”

A faint, understanding smile curled Maverick’s mouth. “When you’re ready.”

We finished breakfast, all of us together, then the kids and Maverick insisted I go have a shower and get dressed, that they would clean up.

It was a weird sensation, not cooking or cleaning in my own kitchen, but I embraced the change and had a nice, long shower.

By the time I emerged from my room, dressed and ready to make cheese, my kitchen was spotless.

Maverick was just getting out of the shower, and Damon was in his room editing their latest recording.

Laurel was, of course, reading in her room.

“Just going to get dressed. Then we can head off,” Maverick said, walking past me into the bedroom. I hesitated for just a moment before following him, then closing—and locking—the door. He dropped the towel, a roguish twinkle in his eye. “Are we going to be late to Fred’s Ched Shed?” he asked.

“Maybe?” Nibbling on my bottom lip, I walked slowly toward him as he grew hard and ready in front of my very eyes. I sunk to my knees and took him in my mouth, humming softly as I brought him to the back of my throat.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his fingers making their way into my hair and holding me there.

I sucked the crown, then suppressed my gag reflex and took him as far back again as I could.

“Christ,” he murmured, his fingers tightening their hold on my scalp as he held me there.

I used one hand to pump his shaft, following the rhythm of my mouth, while the other hand came up and gently cupped and massaged his balls.

He groaned low and deep in his chest as I brought him back out and sucked the head again, flicking my tongue over the slit at the top and making him suck in a sharp breath.

Raking my teeth gently down the length of him, I hummed some more, and he twitched against the back of my throat.

“Close,” he grunted, giving my head the slightest of pushes.

So I took him just a little bit deeper. I kept going until I felt his balls retract against his body.

He went still and his cock began to pulse in my mouth, shooting hot, salty cum across my tongue and down my throat.

I swallowed as fast as I could, making sure my throat contractions massaged his cockhead, heightening his pleasure, as he quietly groaned and panted.

Once I knew he was done, I carefully pulled back and released him with a wet pop. I had barely stood up before he had me on my back and was yanking off my pants. “My turn,” he growled, the glint in his eyes sinister in all the best ways.

So what if we were a little late to cheese making? I happened to think we had one hell of a good excuse. And when Maverick Roy was hungry, who was I to deny him his favorite meal?